


Heat

by Warlady



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Consent Issues, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warlady/pseuds/Warlady
Summary: Smokescreen is reaching his maturity and his first heat cycle...though, nobody told him what it was.





	1. In the heat of the battle

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, please deal with my grammar, spelling and other mistakes

Smokescreen didn’t know what was happening to him. His plating, protoform and even his processor were hot all over.  Moreover he had been having those strange dreams that made him wake up from recharge, drenched in his own coolant and with a pulsing uncomfortable  sensation in his cod-piece. 

 

At first he had dismissed it.  He assumed it was because the climatic conditions of Earth.  After all, his Cybertronic frame was meant for...well a Cybertronic weather. Even though he had lived for a short while in his origin planet, he did remember the chill was a constant, a ideal coldness just some degrees over cero, it was perfect for the Cybertronian mechanical systems and the optimal operation of their processors.

 

Besides it was not that he didn’t enjoy the dreams, actually he liked them. Minus the cramp-like feeling in his nether regions they were quite good most of the time. The sensation didn’t last enough as to need medical assistance. So, he decided to keep that strange glitch unspoken. He was sure it was going to disappear eventually. 

 

He was coping quite fine with the situation until they entered into an unusual skirmish with Decepticons.  

 

Fighting over the scarce resources of Energon was never easy, but this specific battle had been particularly difficult. First, only Wheeljack and Bee were with him when they found the mine. Second, among the drone miners and some war drones there were two top officers of the Decepticons: Starscream and Soundwave. 

 

Even though Autobots used to joke about Starscream competence in fighting, giving his slight frame and quite obvious femme-like way of walking, The seeker was more than a decent adversary.  He lacked the bulk and hard struts of a grounder, but his deadly sharp talons could easily go through plating and protoform, his missiles were not mere firecrackers for sure and his agility and reflexes were top notch, as it was expected from a pure-breed Vosian.

 

Soundwave may be the less expressive Decepticon, but he had been a gladiator. As lethal as secretive, nobody could explain how a thin mech like him could hit so hard.  His fighting techniques were impeccable and thus they were deadly.

 

The Autobots noticed Laserbeak was not attached to her master’s chest until it was too late, the symbiote had discovered them before they could call reinforcements and havoc unleashed.  

 

Smokescreen found his frame heating by the rough encounter with  a swarming pack of drones that had emerged from the deepest part of the mine. Though,  the burning sensation was not only caused by the fight, he suddenly realized when the cramping feeling right inside his codpiece started. At first it was uncomfortable but with any klick it turned into painful. The cramp evolved hastily into a constricting torture that hindered his capacity of process clearly or fight properly. 

 

As it was, the rookie started to fire his weapon without care, aiming poorly, in a mix of pain and anguish. The drones were mere miners, easy to defeat, but Smokescreen was not in good shape as to be a significant rival for them. So, he did the only thing he could think was better in the moment:  run away from the combat.  

 

He was not processing with clarity and the option of retreat from his position and look for a hidden place to stay until his betraying body chilled enough was his the best option. Smokescreen took the first chance he had and recoiled, moving as fast as his distressed self permitted and covered his retreat with random  blasts  from his weapon.

 

Smokescreen strange behaviour had passed unnoticed by his teammates, but one of his adversaries was monitoring everything and under his gleaming mask he smiled quite amused. Soundwave could read his enemies, their intentions, their fear, their weakness ,exploiting such frail spots.That was one of the reasons why he could fight with such proficiency. He was very entertained, dueling with Wheeljack, so he communicated  his discovery  to Startscream through the private link . 

 

The seeker was not precisely fighting in the first line, the Eradicons were making Bee have a hard time. The SIC had been waiting the moment precise to finish the scout, meaning when the drones had exhausted him enough. But when he received the comm from Soundwave he moved fast, transforming in mid air to avoid the crossed fire and anticipated the movement of the rookie. He returned to his root form a few feet from the retreating Autobot and lunged forward.

 

Oblivious of the plot that the ‘cons had designed for him, Smokescreen could not go too far before a full tackle of the seeker sent him backwards to the floor. 

 

Starscream straddled  Smokescreen’s thighs, pinned his arms at his sides and loomed over him with a feral glint in his red optics. 

 

The younger mech tried in vain to disentangle himself from the iron grip the seeker had on his arms, but he felt weak, as if the illness had drawn out his energy all of a sudden. His voice box failed, he couldn’t utter a single word. 

 

The damnable Vosian noticed the futile struggle and grinned in delight. This one was at his mercy, he could kill him if he desired so. Though he decided to not snuff his spark just yet, first he would have fun. Starscream pushed repeatedly his own codpiece against the Rookie's, knowing too well what effect the friction could have in a mech in heat. 

 

Smokescreen couldn’t suppress the shudder that rattled his frame, neither the soft moan that left his lipplates. He didn’t comprehend why his body reacted so, why he had felt so blissful when Starscream had moved...no, not moved, thrust against him. Only in his dreams had he felt something like that, but the plating of the mech from his nightly pleasurable images was yellow and black, not the stark white and silver of the seeker. 

 

“Well, well, grounder, it seems you are in bad condition. How inconsiderate of your Prime to send one of his soldiers in such situation to the battlefield. Perhaps your teammates are dense enough as to not recognize the heat in someone as young as you. Or maybe they know, but are too prissy and are not capable of give you what your body so desperately craves; then, they pretend one of us could make the dirty work for them.” The seeker drawled, thrusting again, more frantically this time and bending enough as to let the air from his intake brush softly the Autobot’s audial.

 

Smokescreen trembled, biting his lipplates to prevent the sounds of pleasure from leaving his mouth. Heat? He had overhead from his superiors about that, something about a bot coming of age.

 

The sound of his modesty plating retracting into his body and the chilly air against his nether region made his face go blue with embarrassment. He had not a saying in that, his body was running automatic protocols. Besides, he didn’t know very well the function of whatever the seals in that area covered. 

 

The Decepticon chuckled at the sight. “Oh, a virgin! First time, isn’t it?.  Do not fret, my young one, I’ve done this before.  I will break those pristine seals, and just after that I will frag your processor out. Pity! I will send you to the Well anyway after that .” 

 

The rookie felt like crying, and even some tears of coolant were blurring his vision. Rape, he had heard about that, not with crude detail, but he knew it entailed a violation of his frame and humiliation of his spark. Raped by a ‘Con, and then killed, that was not how he had imagined his demise. He cringed when the sound of the seeker’s interface array uncovering reached his audials, and fighted with all his will the unexpected knee of the mech prying open his legs. 

 

“No, please, no!” Smokescreen begged, trying to keep his legs closed and moving his frame frantically to shake the other’s weight from over him.

 

“Stop it! If you continue like this I won’t be so gentle!” The seeker scolded.

 

“Well, I won’t be gentle either!” The voice of Bulkhead boomed and was the last thing the ‘Con heard before he was grabbed by one of his long legs and knocked unconscious when the massive mech crushed him against a stony wall. 

 

Smokescreen couldn’t believe it, he had been saved. He could heard the uproar of battle, the voice of Optimus Prime, the known blasts of his companions’ weaponry, and he sighed in relief.  His calm was short lived, as he remembered he had retreated, then let himself be captured and finally...he tried to cover his interface array but the panel didn’t budge from its  place inside his plating. He looked down at his pelvic area and discovered in utter horror how a thing was protruding from inside him and it had broken the seal that had kept it concealed.  Only shreds of soft tissue remained hanging outside the rim of the housing, and energon were leaking profusely from them.  The rookie off lined in shock. 

 

 

*****

 

Ratchet was fuming. A simple patrol had turned into a lost battle, just because Wheeljack had decided to call for reinforcements at the last minute. Bee had holes of blasters all over his frontal plating, only Primus kept his spark from being snuffed. The aforementioned wrecker was not better to wear, since Soundwave finally had revenged from their last encounter severing his arm. 

 

Ratchet had attended the most serious injuries, and was barking orders to all of them. First they had to refuel and recharge in order to let the self-repairing routines to do the rest. All the Autobots retired to their berthrooms, sad and in silence. All but Optimus Prime

 

Ratchet ex-vented a tired sight. His anger against Wheeljack didn’t  compared with the ire he felt towards himself.  He was the medic of the team, how is that something so vital as a heat cycle of  one of his teammates passed unnoticed? 

 

When in war a bot in heat usually was relieved from duties until the cycle completed its natural course. Otherwise, such one could endanger his or her life and the lives of his companions. It was the medic responsibility to diagnose that kind of things, give help if needed, inform to the superiors and keep the soldier out of duty. Moreover, adult warriors knew the importance to inform the medic of such condition, as most of them were fully aware of the disability the heat had over the frame and processor.

 

“It was not your fault, Ratchet, Smokescreen is too young and all of us assumed he was just like the others. To my utter shame, I assigned the same responsibilities without second thoughts. Our desperate need of more soldiers clouded my judgement. If there is a guilty, then it is I.” Optimus put a comforting hand over the medic’s shoulder plates. 

 

“I need to talk to him, the poor thing almost was debauched by Starscream. I am sure he was not aware what was happening to him.  Right now he is at the peak of his heat, his spike ruptured the seal and I had to use some medication to ease the leaking, overrode the automatic protocol that kept his panel open, and imprinted some code that eased the urges to mate. Though, the code is only temporary, soon the heat will come back full force. So, I have to take the rest of the tissue and break the other seal.  If I’m not wrong, I will have to explain him all the mechanics, protocols and coding involved. Primus help me, I haven’t done this in eons! Even Bee had been introduced to self-service by another medic back at Cybertron.” The medic felt suddenly as old and as inadequate as never before in his career.

 

“You will do fine, old friend.  Smokescreen is a spirited youngster I am sure he will be a good student and after today he would know what to do when in heat.”  Optimus ex-vented deeply and went away for his so needed recharge time.

 

Ratchet heard him and was quite sure such ex-vent was one of sadness. The matrix of leadership inhibited the heat cycle and even the normal sexual desires. Optimus had confessed him that although he had not memories of his past, and he was not sure if as Orion Pax he had ever interfaced, he sometimes felt a pang of loss in his spark, as if something was missing.  

 

The Autobot medic looked in the cabinets for something he had stored carefully. Until now he had been certain he would never use it but he didn’t discard it. Finally, he took the little sealed metal box from the confines of the drawer of tools and a frown appeared on his brow. He ex-vented in despair. ‘I am too old for this.’ 

 


	2. Breaking seals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am assuming everyone that reads this fanfiction is aware of the "sticky" way of creating a sparkling. If you are not, I invite you to read my other work: "A typical day in the Clinic", is only one-shot and very explicative...and explicit too.

Smokescreen was in his berthroom, sitting on his sturdy pallet. His modesty panel was closed, under it, he was not leaking energon anymore, and the intense throbbing that had plagued him lately were now a dull pulse barely noticeable. He was supposed to wait until Ratchet attended his teammates’ serious injuries. ‘Go, kid, take it easy in your chamber, I will go then to assist you further.’ He had said.  


Even though he was feeling much better of his illness, the rookie had mixed feelings about the whole ordeal with Starscream. Mainly he was shocked by the nature of the assault. He was incapable of think about the strange advances of the seeker as rape, though. The young mech was not totally aware of the full meaning of that word but he was sure it entailed non-consensual actions performed on the victim. Yet, he had barely struggled, because his systems refused to cooperate, as if his own frame was fully consenting, even asking for the attention his own processor assessed as unwanted.  

He couldn’t define how it made him feel.  He had been thrilled yet terrified, pleasure  and fear were combined at the touch of those long clawed digits, the voice in his audials, the maddening motion of the seeker’s nimble hips and the friction...Primus! It was wrong, but felt so good! He recalled he had begged for it to stop, but deep inside, in a dark recess of his processor he had wished for it to continue, to go forward, there was a goal to be reached...but he didn’t know what it was.

“Smokescreen, I’m outside your berthroom, can I come in?” The voice of Ratchet through their comm link startled him out of his musings.

“Of course, Ratchet.” 

The medic entered the room, all his insecurity and fear forming an imaginary knot around his spark. He activated the lock of the door.

“So, I see you obeyed my recommendation and are taking it easy.” Ratchet said, his voice lacking the usual grumpy edge. After all, he was dealing with a young mech in his first heat, one that had endured an attempt of rape and on top of all, one that probably ignored the basics about his frame functions. 

“I’m so ashamed, I failed the team, Ratchet, I ran away and left my partners alone, Optimus may be so mad and…”

“Smokescreen, I’m sure Optimus won’t blame you for something out of your control.”

“So, I am not going to be punished for deserting?” 

“No. I am here to talk to you about another matter entirely different. We need to talk about your cycle.”

“My what?”

Ratchet huffed, it seemed the rookie was totally uninformed. This was going to take more time than what he had first assumed.

“Well, I have to sit.” Ratchet took the only chair in the room and seated, opposite to the pallet, and facing Smokescreen. “Do you know how a bot comes to life?.

“Yes, the frame is created in a laboratory and the spark comes from the Well through Vector Sigma.” 

“That is correct,  that is one way to create a bot. Though, it is not the only way. The process of creation of life in a laboratory, or in factories, is recent and to some extent goes against the original design of Primus. ”

“Huh?  An original design?.” Smokescreen seemed particularly curious, he was still young and eager to learn.

Ratchet took a pad from his sub-space and proceed to explain the old natural ways of kindling a spark.

*******

Smokescreen was silent, his face was blue in embarrassment. He was still processing  the news about the Cybertronian natural way of reproduction. Besides, his change of status from a rookie green soldier into a rookie green soldier mature and fertile and all the strange issues this entailed, including the imminent procedure to remove his seals, made him want to cry. Not having control over his own frame was nothing he could assume as normal, and the need to  remove something  surgically  from his frame filled him with trepidation.

“Do you have any doubt” Ratchet asked, although he knew the young bot was still too shocked by the lecture. 

“All Cybertronians are affected by...heat cycles?” Smokescreen whispered.

“Yes, all the Cybertronians.”

“Even Optimus!” The rookie could not believe Optimus Prime was less than perfect, and the notion of his flawless leader partaking in that kind of activities was simply appalling.

“The Primes are unable to enter heat cycles, they are unaffected by lustful desires and can’t interface.The matrix of leadership prevents it, because those natural processes could render them inadequate to accomplish their functions.” Ratchet said.

Smokescreen sighed, he was relieved that at least an important constant in the equation of his life didn’t change. 

“So, Starscream was trying to get me sparked?”

“No, what he was planning to do is called rape, and is a heinous crime . And to take advantage from a ‘bot that is unable to resist adds a level more to the atrocity.” Ratchet face plates showed clearly the degree of ire he felt when he thought about the incident. “You simply was his victim, no matter your frame was having a deal of pleasurable reward from his groping, you were not guilty and I’m sure your processor was not entirely consenting.”

“It’s good to know, it was awkward to feel...like that, by an enemy’s touch no less. But, Ratchet, how could he know I was in heat, in the havoc of battle…”

“Soundwave was there, and that ‘con could catch the slightest sign of it, even being in a duel with Wheeljack. So, he probably told Starscream by their comm-link. But, it’s accounted rape is not condoned by Megatron, so the seeker was supposed to kill you using your temporary disadvantage. It seems he was acting out of Decepticon’s rules.”

“But, if he had sparked me by accident?” The rookie shuddered by the mere thought of carrying inside him a sparkling sired by the seeker through a despicable violation.

“Well, Bulkhead saved you on time, the seeker couldn’t complete his plan.”

“Oh, Primus! The others saw me uncovered!” Smokescreen exclaimed, hiding his face with his servos.

“Well, no, Bulkhead had the common sense to come back first from the fight and inform me about the unfortunate episode, so yes, he saw you uncovered. I had to tell Optimus because it's my duty, but other than us, your teammates don’t know and won’t be told by any of the ones aware.  And, about carrying a sparkling Cybertron is dead, so Primus and the Well of All Sparks are forever lost , there is no way to infuse life into the product of an interface.  The physical result wouldn’t be alive or develop, the systems would reabsorbs whatever remnant of it.” 

“Then why we keep on functioning like this? There is no point in going through this torture if there are no way we can use it to keep our species from extinction!” Smokescreen was very distressed, the suppressor code Ratchet had put on him was wearing off, the painful sensations in his lower parts returned and his frame overheated in a klick.

Ratchet caught the signature of the heat cycle in the rookie’s E.M: field,  a sudden fluctuating pulse, strong and disordered. “I have not an answer for that, but right now it’s time to help you out of your cycle. But, first, lay down, I will broke your seals.”

Smokescreen panicked, jumped from the pallet and tried to bolt out the room.

Ratchet caught him before he could reach the door.  The medic swiftly inserted two of his digits through a transformation seam, right between the base of the helm and the neck and  pressed softly. 

Smokescreen felt how his legs wobbled and gave under his frame. Ratchet caught him before he could hit the floor.

“Now, don’t try that again and let me help you, or I would call some of our teammates to help me restrain you while I work.” Ratchet said, easily lifting the speedster in his arms, as if he weighed nothing. He carried the younger bot to the berth and laid him down again.

“No, please, I will not run again! Just, don’t let them see me like this.” Smokescreen begged,  he noticed his legs were working again but he would endure the pain rather than let his teammates see him in such a humiliating situation.

“Well, then, wait a klick.” Ratchet took out the little box he had carried in his sub-space. With a sudden pull to the lid he ruptured the seal that kept it closed. He looked in reverence the contents, they were a memento from the times when Cybertron was in peace. 

“What is it?” Smokescreen looked at the beautiful designs that adorned the box and its lid. He winced, laying on his backstruts relieved the pain a little but it still was way too present.

“This is a rupturing kit. I usually gifted them to the youngsters that came by themselves to my consultory  for  breaking of seals, it contents the tools to realize the procedure.” 

“By themselves?”

“Some came with their significant other, or significant others in the case of trines of seekers. In those cases the friends of the bot brought it. It was a nice custom which gave the special occasion some luster.” Ratchet extracted from the box a couple of folded pieces of something that looked like white fabric. He extended one of them beside the hips of the rookie, on the berth, and placed on it a little scalpel made totally of light blue crystal and a small vial of an iridescent substance.

“It will hurt, won’t it?”

“Just a little and for a klick or two. Now, I will need you to open your legs and bend the knee joints, we don’t have stirrups so I will have to kneel on your bed to reach properly.” 

As Smokescreen followed the medic’s instructions, Ratchet climbed carefully on the pallet and kneeled between the young bot’s legs. He unfolded the other piece of fabric.

“Good, now raise a little your hips from the bed, I have to put this under you.” Ratchet put the soft sheet on the berth. “That’s it, now lower again your pelvis and relax. Retract your modesty panel please.” He had said that same line thousand of times before the war, and from time to time during the war, yet never had he told it to someone so close, someone he probably will see again to the optics, day after day until the end of war or the end of his life.  


Smokescreen tried hard to relax, he decided to look at the ceiling and brought a pleasant memory to his processor, a blurred image from one of his later dreams: yellow and black plating over him. The cover of his interface array retracted with a soft hiss and left his already pressurizing spike and the lower intact seal on bare sight.

Ratchet sighed, a handsome spike indeed, good size and a healthy gleam from  the  blue  biolights lining it. Though, some broken tissue was blocking the housing aperture, so the full pressurizing was hindered, and probably that was the main source of the pain. 

“Smokescreen, have I your permission to touch your spike?” Ratchet asked, he needed the patient’s consent. 

The rookie was taken out from his personal paradise. He had assumed the medic didn’t need his permission to do the procedure. “Yes.” He said.

Ratchet opened the vial he had extracted from the box and put some droplets of the substance on the tips of his digits. A sweet fragrance filled suddenly the air. 

“What is that wonderful smell?” Smokescreen asked as soon its chemoreceptors registered the scent. 

“It’s oil of crystal flowers, it will numb the area.” Ratchet explained, yet he didn’t add that the loss of sensation would be slight, and the oil was going to make easier the slide of the blade and lessen the leak of Energon. With skilled movements he took the spike with three digits of his left servo, avoiding to touch the sensitive tip and moving it aside from the shreded tissue he was going to remove. This simple contact made Smokescreen gasp. The medic, although concentrated in his task, could not prevent a rush of energon to his face-plates.  

Ratchet applied the oil to the ring of the spike housing with soft and languid movements, while he scanned Smokescreen’s field for a sign of relaxation. When he registered the  correct frequency, he retrieved the crystal scalpel and with precise and swift movements removed all the broken tissue. 

Smokescreen hissed, although desensitized to some extent, there was still an edge of acute pain. But, just at the same time, the rupture freed his spike and the pressure disappeared.

“It’s almost done, kid, just the other seal and you will be done. Ok?” Ratchet reassured Smokescreen. 

“Ok.” Smokescreen muttered, the numbness was disappearing but the immense relief he felt made him no mind the soreness. He recalled again the images of his dream, soft sensation of lipplates and palms on his frame…

Ratchet put a small quantity of the oil directly on the seal. The whole outer structure of the valve was just below the thin membrane, and this one was flexible, so breaking it was a procedure more delicate. 

The trick was to keep the patient distracted enough. Some medics plainly serviced the released spike until the bot was aroused enough. Though, Ratchet was old school, and touching their patients so intimately was out of the question. So, he  pressed softly with one of his digits, the soft seal curved inwardly without breaking, and the medic could feel the form of the port just through the overlaying tissue. 

Smokescreen was once again taken from his dreaming, but this time was a way too good sensation just between his legs what startled him. “Ratchet, what…?”

“If you want me to stop or feel uncomfortable just tell me.” 

“No, please, don´t…” He moaned, the medic had slid his digits in circles, keeping the gentle pressure. “Don’t stop!” Smokescreen’s was being fondled through his seals, though lessened by the barrier, the sensations were new and the heat cycle heightened them. 

Ratchet bit his lip, trying hard not to pay attention to the increasing moans and gasps from the young bot, or to the fans coming to life.  

It had been eons since the last time he did this procedure, but he remembered that the closer he take the patient to overload the better. Just a klick before, when the charge created was in the brink of filling the capacitor. Ratchet felt another flush crept up to his faceplates, just the memory of such known sensation stirred his usually controlled libido. He collected himself promptly, it was not time for that kind of futile musings, he had to monitor the E.M. field for the precise moment.

Ratchet caught the sudden peak of energy that signaled the imminent overload. He  took the scalpel with his idle servo. In a single second he halted his ministrations and put the tip of the tool over the spot where he had located the aperture of the, valve just under the membrane of the seal, and made a short incision. 

Smokescreen cried out when he reached the first overload of his life. The seal practically burst open, while a flood of lubricant washed away to the last vestige of the tissue. As in cue his spike tensed and a big load of transfluid spurted right over his ventral plates. He was trembling, taking air through his intake, his fans were whirring furiously, dispelling the heat of his frame. After some klicks he regained some coherency.  "What just…happened?”

“It’s done. Let me see.” Ratchet watched carefully the now uncovered  and soaked valve. “Not even a drop of energon shed, it seem you’ve been restraining for a while, the level of acidity of your lubricants mixed with the oil dissolved the tissue. No need to cut anymore.” 

“That was it?” Smokescreen exclaimed. “That was an overload?”

Ratchet left the berth. “Yes, and the removal of your seals, congratulations, you are no longer a virgin. You can sit if you want, though I recommend you to first clean yourself.”   

The medic put his palm under Smokescreen aft and lifted his hips to take away the piece of fabric from under him, some little drops of Energon from the removal of tissue stained it. He folded it a couple of times, leaving the clean surface outside of the folds. “You can use this.  It’s sterile fabric, soft enough as to not hurt your sore spots, and here, the oil, serves as a cleanser too. Don’t use much at the same time, as you noticed its aroma is very pleasant, but it's very strong.”

Ratchet wrapped the scalpel with the remnant piece of fabric put it inside the box and closed it. Then, he handed it to the rookie. “Here, it’s yours, you can save it as a memento, or throw it into the garbage, is your option.”

Smokescreen had finished cleaning himself, he took the box and put the oil inside it and stored the little chest in the cabinet beside his berth. "Thank you."  


"It's my job, kid."

“Ratchet, how I do...cover myself.” The rookie signaled his lower region. His spike had depressurised and had retracted to his casing, and his valve was still in plain sight. 

“Oh, yes, try to close the covers, now the seals are removed so your frame is able to cycle the plates that closes each casing. With practice you will be able to control them individually.”

Smokescreen set his processor to the task, and he succeed in the first try. He was elated it had been easier than learning to transform; controlling his t-cog had taken him long time until it felt natural. Finally, his modesty plating slid into place. 

“Good, now a final words. You are not virgin, but you are still “untouched”. That means you had not interfaced properly yet, and you can save that first time to share it with a good bot. Some Cybertronians used to save that for their spakbonded, yet the custom was already old fashioned when I entered the Academy. Though is preferable to chose somebody you feel deserves it, a close friend is always a good option.”

“But the heat. Is it over?” Smokescreen was sure he was still overheating. 

“The heat cycle? No, it’s not over, it can take two or three days of Earth to finally withdraw.  As it is, finding the proper bot and willing him or her into interfacing could take some time. Meanwhile, you will have to deal with the heat by yourself.” Ratchet gave Smokescreen the pad he had prepared for such occasions. It contained a file with graphic explanation on self-service and some cyber-erotic movies, nothing so crude, but explicit enough to help him if his imagination offered him not good fuel for fantasy.

“By myself? You mean...like touching myself? How…” 

“Use the pad, kid, and you are off-duty until the heat passes. So, keep this door locked if you don’t want to be interrupted and enjoy your free time.”

Smokescreen looked in shock how the medic left his room in haste. He gave a frightened glance at the pad as if the harmless thing was a hungry scraplet.

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How come everything I write starts as a one-shot and ends as something multi-chapter?
> 
> My gratitude to all the ones who left Kudos or Comments.


	3. Self-service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the tile is quite descriptive

Smokescreen read the guide, it was quite graphic for his liking, the illustrations were too explicit . But, given he lacked an instructor in the matter, it was clear and convenient . After all, with the instructions clear he only needed his servos, right?

To stroke his own spike, had proved to be pleasant, and he had learned that some specifics movements of his digits, different levels of pressure and a certain motion of his wrist in a precise moment felt really good. Working his valve felt good too, and it seemed  that part of his anatomy had an special craving for big stuff, he had already inserted three of his digits and still he was deciding if his whole servo would be enough. The guide recommended the use of some sort of “toy”, like a surrogate spike, though Ratchet had not mentioned or suggested nothing of the sort so he supposed it was not necessary.

But, after a couple of decent overloads that gave him a modicum of content, the heat returned, as strong as before.

So, against his resolution of don’t even consider give a glance to the rest of the files in the “pad of corruption” (he decided this designation was befitting), he finally watched some of the movies

The plot of all of them was almost nil, of course, but soon enough the young mech found himself watching enthralled the scenes while pleasuring himself.

His first choice was the video of a bot performing a “solo” which proved to be very enticing and helpful. The frame of the mech was absolutely gorgeous, the red sleek plating had a big resemblance to Knockout’s. The Decepticon was a total glitch, but Smokescreen could not deny his visage, frame, voice and gestures were nothing but sexy. The rookie soon wondered if  the red medic looked as good, with his legs open and his interface array on display. ‘He probably sounds the same when aroused enough. Primus, if he had been the one instead Starscream...’  It was considerably easier to reach overload once he started to imagine the mech on screen was Knockout.

The second one was not a surprise: seekers. He had wondered when seekers were going to appear, given their flirty reputation and attractive frames. The real surprise was when Smokescreen realized it was a trine, very similar in frame, color and demeanor to Starscream,  minus the sharp claws and with a luster that could rival Knockout’s. It was valve play mainly, but the youngster learned that one digit was enough if angled in the correct manner as to reach the nodes set in the inner lining of the port. Oh, and the anterior node! He didn’t know such sensitive spot was placed right at his servo, so to speak, the precise touch and strokes sent him into a delirious bliss. The vision of a glossa licking the outer folds of a valve sent a surge of static crawling up his entire chassis. And the sounds! Primus, the sounds! The Vossian words were entirely unknown to him, but the moans,  the quality, acuteness and desperation of them made him moan in unison with them. He was so close, so close, something told him  this one was going to be even better than the previous. In a daze he recalled the guide mentioned something  about a ceiling node. He dared to plunge his middle digit deeper, until he touched the very end of his port channel. Oh, Primus, right there, that was the ceiling node.  He arched his back struts, threw his helm back and howled while the wave of his overload shook him.

Smokescreen’s optics had offlined, and it took him some time to reactivate them,  a little time more to focus, and he was so shaken he was sure part of his neural net had burned down. “That was a Pit of an overload!” He muttered, his body still trembling and his spark cycling strong and fast...maybe too strong and too fast.

Another wave of heat engulfed him. So it was not over!

After the third movie -a hot session of interface  performed by two beautiful voluptuous femmes- and while recovering from the satisfactory release of accumulated charge, Smokescreen had decided that, although very, very pleasurable, self-service was not enough to freed him from the heat cycle.

Ratchet had said the whole cycle would be over after two or three days, and he had being doing this for...he checked his chronometer.

“Three hours!” the rookie said, dismayed.

It was not working! Five overloads -one to be accounted as skyrocketing- and Smokescreen’s frame wanted more.. He blamed the second movie and the image of a glossa delving inside a valve. He decidedly could not have that by himself. Of course, the third one was responsible as well, the depiction of one of the femmes covering the other and spiking her with abandoned delight had made him crave for that. Not precisely a femme, something bigger and stronger…

His feverish processor listed the possibilities: Bulkhead...would crush him easily. Wheeljack, would laugh at him. Bee, oh, no, or yes, but he wouldn’t dare to ask him. Ratchet!

Smokescreen decided that the medic would be a suitable option; some would say Ratchet was way too old, and cranky and prone to fits of throwing wrenches to other’s helms...and had wide back struts, firm skillful servos, strong legs and hips. Primus, the medic had lifted him in his arms like he was a minibot!

Yet another wave shook his frame, this time his entire set of plating rattled and he bit his lip as the craving turned from insistent to ravenous. His frame was overheating, his vents were working overtime, so his fans, and his spike pressurized full tilt. ‘I wouldn’t dare to ask Ratchet, neither’.  He said inwardly, taking his girth with his servo and offlining his optics. ‘Though, he wouldn’t mind if I use my imagination, right?.’

 

* * *

 

Ratchet felt bad for leaving the rookie by himself. Maybe if he were younger, and not his medic, he could offer more than a lousy pad filled with cold crude instructions and a bunch of porn to work with. War was a cruel mistress. Among the horrendous things it had granted to the Cybertronian race, the difficulty to find a berth-mate was not the worst, but it destroyed the moral and the spirits. Ratchet mused, the piece of equipment he had tried to fix forgotten before him. He had been behind that table for nearly three hours, while his thoughts returned again and again to the lonely mech that was left behind to deal by himself with something he barely had been introduced to.

The old medic remembered the moment when Smokescreen had overloaded by his subtle ministrations. Primus, the mere recall made his spark flutter and his neural net lit up with lilting harmonics. The young mech had his first climax at his servos, and Ratchet had been the first to touch him intimately. Ratchet felt filthy. What kind of medic could think about a patient in such unethical way?

Yet, Oh, the view, the sounds and  the E.M. field tinted with the irregular disordered oscillation of heat! Primus, it had been too long since he had a lover! His own frame, although old, still reacted to those signals. So he had to gather all his self-control to leave, to give Smokescreen the damned pad and run like a coward. 

That was the main reason to keep the soldiers in heat isolated, their fields could eventually turn-on the nearest bot’s interface protocols and such protocols could lead to rash actions from both parts. In the worst cases a bot in heat could be raped, not by enemies, but by nearest friends. And the medic had been too close to him.

‘But I’m not a youngster anymore, and I sure know what I might do!’ He scolded himself and left the laboratory, he won’t need a pad full of porn or training for dealing with his own urges. Millions of years without a berth-mate could turn a bot into a professional in self-service.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Pharma!” Ratchet grunted, his spike big and thick already leaking beads of transfluid. He had been stroking himself for a while, replying in his processor the sensations of being inside his past lover. Pharma was a Vosian, pure breed, not a seeker but he was an aerial. So, although big in frame, his valve was as small and tight as that of any other Vosian. Yet, that minimal port could accommodate deliciously Ratchet’s cord.

The old medic was frantic in his ministrations, using the movements he had learned gave him more pleasure. While, in his processor, the images of Pharma fueled his arousal. “Primus, yesss!” He moaned.

He inserted two digits of his free servo under the chest plating, right over a set of sensors that controlled the energy  levels of the capacitor, with a firm pressure turned them-off. It was cheating the frame to think he had not reached the necessary level of energy for overload, so he could keep building a bigger load of charge for longer, the resulting overload was processor-melting, so to speak. As a matter of fact, some minor circuits would surely burn down, but it worth it.

Ratchet felt his end nearing, so close he could touch it.

_“Oh, Primus, Ratchet, yesss!”_

Ratchet halted his stroking. That was Smokescreen on the comm-link!

He checked the signal, some relief downed on him, it was only their previous connection, the slip was not broadcasted through common Autobot’s channels. Because it was that, a slip, it had to be. It happened sometimes, by mistake of course, some systems were activated by a lost spike of charge.

_“Nnng, yess, Ratchet, frag me, please!”_

Before he could notice his servo resumed his motion. He restrained a moan, his side of the line was on. He willed his side close so he could hear without being heard.

_“Yes...right there...just...like….that!”_

Ratchet felt even filthier than before, but he couldn’t stop, not being so close to his own climax and having his name called by Smokescreen between laboured ex-vents.

_“Ooooh, yes, Primus, deeper, harder!”_

The medic felt totally afire, his sensornet hadn’t been so charged since he was a youngster himself. He offlined his optics and just let him be carried away by the moans and gasps through the comm-link.

 _“I’m...too close...Ratchet, I...want…”_  Merely half words, laced with static.

“Overload for me, little one!” Ratchet whispered.

As if on cue, the rookied’s cry of completion filled the comm link.

The old mech groaned, overload shaking hard his sturdy frame. He stroked hard his spike, once, twice, until his load spurted over his hand, ventral plates and thighs, his chassis glistening with coolant. His optics were still trying to focus, the wave of energy had unbalanced his systems and some had started to reboot. Once he gained a modicum of stability, guilt showed his ugly face. It started nagging his spark.

Ratchet keep on listening the transmission. At least he could say it sounded like Smokescreen had had a good overload.

There were the common sounds post-climax, hard ex-vents, fans whirring, plating aligning...sobs.

Ratchet optics on-lined totally and cycled open in worry. Smokescreen was sobbing. He checked the comm-link, it was closed on his side, so it was no way the rookie had heard him.

 _“It’s not working, Primus, when is this going to end? How am I supposed to spend three days doing this?”_ Desperate sobs and shaken moans filled the communication line.

The medic took out a rag from his subspace and cleaned himself in no time. He left his room, a decision finally made. He probably was going to hate himself later, but for Primus he was not going to let Smokescreen suffer alone!

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gratitude to the ones that left Kudos and comments, you make my day!


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